Page 35 of Something to Prove (Smithton Bears #2)

“Try something different. Surrender.” — Rumi

Walker

Four years later

The steady sound of thumping and panting echoed off the walls.

Get your mind out of the gutter. That was Ty on the treadmill, wiping sweat from his brow with the towel draped over the machine.

He positively glistened under the dim lights in our home gym, and I assure you, it was a swoonworthy sight.

I took a moment to appreciate his yummy six-pack and muscular thighs before continuing my report on Norwegian fjords. As one does.

“Did you know they have more than a thousand fjords? Did you know that glaciers and gravel carved out inlets to the sea? That’s how they were formed.

They’re…geez, twelve thousand years old!

Amazing.” I hummed in exaggerated wonder, adding, “Did you know that the word fjord means to pass or go to the other side?”

Ty grunted, adjusting his speed and slowing to a walk as he glanced my way. “I had no idea. Also…I’m not sure what we’re talking about, and shouldn’t you be on the elliptical?”

I twitched my nose in the universal gesture of distaste. “I can’t do it, Ty. Sweat looks good on you, but it’s icky on me.”

“Icky?” he repeated with a laugh.

“ Mmhmm . And while I like to think I’m a multitasking expert, it doesn’t work with exercise.

I can listen to a podcast with television and music blaring in the background while I make dinner, but I can hardly breathe much less speak and do steps on that”—I waved a hand at the dreaded elliptical machine—“thing.”

Ty snorted. “You can do anything you set your mind to, baby.”

“Thank you.” I beamed at my amazing, talented, hunky boyfriend and tapped my tablet meaningfully.

“But this is more important. I think Norway is next on our list. It’s historically significant—Vikings and marauders and Norse gods—and it’s beautiful.

If we time it right, we might be able to see the northern lights. What do you say?”

“Fuck, yeah. I’m in.”

“Yay! I’ll make it happen.” I set the tablet aside to hand Ty a water bottle as he jumped off the treadmill, falling heavily onto the opposite end of the workout bench.

He chugged the contents, heat emanating from him in waves. Then he dropped his head and peeked at me through a fringe of damp hair. “You’re staring at me.”

“I can’t help it. You’re so sexy, I’m weak in the knees.” I batted my lashes and fanned myself, chuckling at Ty’s eye roll.

“What happened to Australia?”

“We’re going to do that too, but I’m going to need a minute to get over the article I read about their native venomous spiders and snakes. Australia and New Zealand are on next year’s list. But fair warning, our summer is their winter. It might be cold and rainy.”

Ty crushed the plastic bottle in one hand and tossed it into the wastebasket near the door. “That’s okay. I think we should put Bali and Thailand on the list too.”

“Done.” I scooted closer to him and laced our fingers. “Are you ready for tomorrow night?”

“Yeah. I am.” He quirked a lopsided smile as he squeezed my hand. “I know it’s not my first time, but…I think I have a real shot at playing. Buffalo’s beat up.”

I didn’t finish the rest of the sentiment.

Hockey players were a superstitious bunch, and I didn’t dare accidentally jinx Ty’s chances.

He was right, though. With four seasons in the AHL under his belt, Ty had a reputation as a fierce competitor.

He was quick, agile, and known for being a little “sneaky.” Actually, the term an opponent recently used to describe him was, “a demonic fucker,” which Ty took as a compliment.

And rightfully so. He’d worked hard to become one of the most valuable and highest paid players in the league. It had been a long road, but he’d had a huge support system of friends, family, and even his agent.

Toby had become one of Ty’s biggest advocates and had stuck with him through his short stint with the Jackals, which had been marred by their insistence on tying Ty’s name with my dad’s. Ty wasn’t Ketchum Clomsky in any way, shape, or form. And dating his son wasn’t going to change that.

The Clomsky craze faded and then resurfaced two years ago when a nurse leaked the news that my father was dealing with early onset dementia caused by what was assumed to be chronic traumatic encephalopathy, CTE.

Aunt Kay had been devasted on my dad’s behalf.

To me, it was an important opportunity to highlight a very real issue.

I would like to report that the attention brought my father and me closer, but nothing had changed.

No, that wasn’t true. I’d healed. I’d learned to accept what was and to appreciate that I had a chance to make a better life for myself with someone I loved who loved me and was willing to move mountains to be with me.

Or at the very least, move closer.

Ty had been traded to Rochester, where he’d morphed into an indominable scoring machine. In my opinion, he’d always been a force to be reckoned with on the ice, but now…he was a seasoned pro, mentally and physically prepared to play at any level. Even in the NHL.

Tomorrow night, he was on Buffalo’s roster.

It might be one game only or maybe the length of a series, or…

maybe they’d make him a permanent member.

Ekes! I hoped so. I didn’t think Ty was overly eager, though.

He was happy playing for Rochester. Ty loved his teammates and the coaching staff, and he loved being commuting distance to Smithton.

In case you’re curious…I opted to stay in Smithton postgraduation.

Part of me had wanted to follow Ty to Florida.

He’d rented an apartment for us with a big window for Mabel to survey the neighborhood.

He’d made room for me in his closet and given me cart blanche to decorate as I pleased, but I couldn’t help thinking that my presence was a distraction. I needed to find my own path.

So…we had a long-distance relationship for nine yucky months.

Not gonna lie, it was terrible and I hated it.

I missed Ty like crazy, and I worried nonstop.

On the bright side, the time passed quickly and it gave me a chance to rebrand myself from a collegiate influencer to something a tad more mainstream.

What’s New, Smithton? was now called What’s New, Walker?

, a travel and lifestyle channel that showcased interesting places and people in small towns across the globe.

Robin and Shay still handled editing and photography, but we’d added a few staff members to help with scheduling and logistics.

So far, I’d covered everything from rival barbecue-sauce makers in a tiny town outside of Kansas City to adorable bookshops and pubs in the UK.

I’d toured wineries, sampled cheeses, learned how to knit (not well) and how to decorate a wedding cake (also, not well).

I saved bigger trips for summertime when Ty was available to join me for an adventure.

My audience was mad for anything Ty-related, but we had strict rules to guard our personal lives.

I didn’t talk about him on my show unless he was scheduled to make an appearance, which again…

was a summer thing. And he didn’t discuss me in interviews.

Most of our fans knew we had a cat named Mabel and that we’d adopted a gorgeous mutt called Milly. However, they didn’t know that we’d bought a huge Victorian house in the Smithton bluffs last year that we’d painstakingly remodeled in our spare time.

We’d gutted the kitchen, torn out a wall between the old dining room and an office that looked more like a closet.

We’d stripped ancient wallpaper, repaired molding, painted, sanded, refinished the hardwood floors and wraparound porch.

And Ty had repurposed and added square footage to an old shed and made it into a state-of-the-art workout space with all kinds of contraptions I avoided at all costs.

Ooh, don’t get me started on the yard. It had gone from weed central to an actual real-life lush garden. It was March now, so it wasn’t quite at its best yet, but just wait.

Ty recruited his dad and brothers, Brady, Gus, Jett, a few of his teammates from Rochester, and my entire Toronto posse to help.

Our families meshed very well, thank goodness. His parents loved me, and my aunt and uncle were staunch members of the Ty Czerniak fan club. Familial get-togethers felt natural and…easy.

It was nice to share pieces of our lives with them that we wouldn’t share with the public.

But no one needed to know that we had plans to get married in the garden someday or that we sat in various rooms and imagined our kids climbing out of their cribs and wreaking havoc. That was for us. Not today or even this year, but we’d know when the time was right.

In the meantime, we had more to accomplish, more to prove.

“I hope it happens,” I said, raising our joined hands to my lips. “I hope they say, ‘Ty Czerniak, you sexy beast, come play for Buffalo. Be our hero.’ ”

Ty cocked his head quizzically. “Do you think they’d add ‘sexy beast’ to the contract?”

“I’ll demand it.”

He pulled me close in a one-armed hug, snickering at my yelp about sweaty pits. “Kiss me, Red. And let me tell you something. The only thing that matters to me is right here.”

I kissed him, running my thumb along his bearded jaw as I gazed into his eyes. “The NHL is your dream, Ty.”

“It’s a goal, and that’s different. My dream is…” Ty pointed at Mabel and Milly curled up under the window. “That cat, the dog, this awesome gym, and the M&M cookies in the pantry. We did all this together.”

“Actually, I made those cookies.”

He tickled my side. “You know what I mean. We made a home, baby. This is ours. I’m yours and I’m so fucking glad you’re mine.”

I leaned my forehead against Ty’s and hummed. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, Red. Always will.”

We smiled, breathing each other in…until I commented that showers were good things.

Ty laughed and said I could use one too.

Then the beast hauled me to my feet and flipped me over his shoulder like a sack of flour.

I squawked and tried to wriggle free, but my efforts were weak at best. We both knew it.

I was madly in love with this man and this life we’d created. There was nothing left to say, and nothing to prove. Only love.